


To Russia I Flew

by sk8rpssockpup (MissIzzy)



Series: Remnants of a Real-Time Series [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2007 Cup of Russia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-28
Updated: 2007-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/sk8rpssockpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Russia I Flew

**Author's Note:**

> Direct sequel to "Gold and Bronze," taking place at Cup of Russia that year.

In the end, one of the biggest factors in deciding it for Johnny was the cold he came down with a few days before the competition.  
  
In some ways, the damn thing actually made him feel better, because he was able to skate right through it to an extent he'd never managed before, and that was another boost to his growing confidence. And it had needed that boost too; the past two competitions had been a simple matter of being better than he had been, but this was the first one he was entering carrying serious emotional investment with him. From a professional standpoint, there was proving winning in China hadn't been a fluke. From a personal one, there was the need to skate well here in Russia, in front of a crowd that would appreciate it so much, and he hated that he'd never really had a good competition here, the closest being 2004, which he still hadn't been satisfied with. He'd needed this one to be it.  
  
But all that came to mean a little less at night, when he was in bed with his throat giving him hell, and he found himself longing for a comforting pair of arms. And though he first tried to imagine a generic pair of strong arms doing the job, it wasn't long at all before his mind refused to make them anyone's but Stephane Lambiel's. From there the fantasies had just gotten worse: Stephane kissing his neck better, Stephane kissing other sore places better-and there had been plenty of those to be kissed, and when he'd spent the third night in a row jerking off while thinking about Stephane fucking him he'd known at the very least that neither of his two choices were going to be easy.  
  
Stephane leading him by less than half a point after the short, with them both about ten points in front of everybody else, sent a message of its own, but at that point Johnny had refused to think about it. He had to worry more about his spins, his nerves, landing the quad in case Galina changed her mind and said that yes, he should do it, and finally get both those damn circular step sequences closed so that they would stop getting graded level one, and the lingering worry about what a cold could do in four and a half minutes when the skating was intense enough.  
  
Then that was all over, with one jump less and a little less quality than he had wanted but it had still been good enough all things considered, and backstage Johnny sat near the monitor and watched Stephane's performance. Which should have surprised Galina, but didn't. Of course it didn't. Of course she'd figured it out. It had probably contributed to her anxiety as early as the short. And he'd waited in dread of her response, and was profoundly relieved when she looked at him, looked at the monitor, and sort of raised her eyes and heaved her shoulders a little, as if to say, "Well, if you must." He could hardly have expected her approval, but he truly hadn't wanted to know whether or not he would have followed her dictates had she outright objected. Maybe she hadn't either, or she thought it not worth the risk.  
  
When he'd first started looking about for a new coach, Sasha had cornered him after a show and told him not to go to Tarasova. "It's all okay to spend a summer with her," she'd said, "but train under her full time and she will take over your life. She'll get mad if you breath without her direction." Johnny knew what she was talking about; he knew how Russian coaches worked. He knew also that Sasha had really meant well. But he'd gone to Galina thinking,  _If she takes over my life, she takes over my life,_  because he'd finally reached the point where he was willing to let that happen if that was what it took. And this latest decision of his was probably going to make him all the more obedient to her in every other aspect of his life. Maybe she'd think that a good trade-off anyway.  
  
Because Johnny's decision was made during those four and a half minutes. It was made when he saw Stephane fall right onto his knee and felt his heart wince, even though he knew he might just have won right there. It was made ten times over when Stephane was finishing up his program, Johnny knew he definitely had won, and as he watched Stephane all he could think was, _Is he all right? Is his knee all right?_ He saw, too, or thought he saw-he wasn't really sure of anything, that Stephane still was showing signs of unhappiness in his skating, and that nearly forced him to turn away.  
  
If he showed anything but happiness right now there would be questions of the kind he did not want, but if it hadn't been for the problems with Stephane this might have been one of the happiest nights of his life, and as it was he managed to regain his cheer when the scores were announced and the win official. But too much of the press conference was a mass of tension. He had to limit how much he even looked at Stephane, and shaking hands with him was agony. It was better when Stephane wasn't there, when Johnny was in the mixed zone and such. Russia was, as always, very good to Johnny, to the point that it almost made him forget about Stephane whenever he was elsewhere. Almost.  
  
But when he reached the locker room to find Stephane gone already, he was brought back to remembering him by an unexpected note slipped into his locker, with a room number and the words  _Please come as soon as you can. I will wait. Congratulations on your victory._  
  
Between one thing and another, Johnny didn't manage to find himself alone again until he was in the hotel elevator. Then with a sigh of relief he pressed the button for Stephane's floor instead of his own.  
  
The elevator had just started moving when the fear kicked in. He might have limited how much he looked at Stephane, but not enough to not notice the heavy stance he had bourn that was not one that invited in a lover, particularly one who had just beaten him to the gold for the second competition in a row. Say what you wanted about their greatest competitors being themselves, which was true in both their cases, certainly, but it could be perfectly true without them wanting to see the ones who finished above them afterwards.  
  
"But he wanted me there," Johnny said out loud, "or else he wouldn't have left me his room number." Unless he wanted Johnny there to tell him immediately that it wasn't going to happen.  
  
As he had in China, he stood in front of Stephane's door at first, but this time he knew he had no choice but to knock. His knocking sounded loudly in the hotel corridor.  
  
"Come in," Stephane's voice called.  
  
This, too, was a repeat of China. Stephane lay on the bed, looked up, and softly asked, "Johnny?"  
  
Johnny opened his mouth, and found himself with a thousand things he could say. "My answer's yes," or "Are you okay?" or "Do you still want me?" or "I got here as soon as I could," or something in French, anything of the language that he could remember. Something even about how Stephane did better here than in China, or maybe about the deja vu. Or even that he was glad Stephane had asked him here. Or maybe a reminder that he had a throat infection, and that they should keep that in mind.  
  
What finally came out, much to his surprise, was, "I love you."  
  
Stephane sighed and fell back against the bed with his eyes closed. Johnny felt his heart drop out of his chest.  _Of all the stupid, useless things I could have said. How could he view me saying that here and now as anything but an insulting platitude? If he was wavering at all, of course he'll reject me now._  He looked down and the floor spun beneath him, and he cursed himself for letting himself get this vulnerable.  
  
When Stephane remained silent, Johnny asked, not even trying to hide how broken he felt, "Do you want me to just go?"  
  
"Johnny," said Stephane, "what I want, if you are willing to do it, is for you to come over here and kiss me, and then fuck me until I am no longer thinking."  
  
Two seconds later Johnny was hovering over the bed. This close and he could feel the warmth coming from Stephane's body. His heart, come back to life, was racing like a newborn's. "I have a cold. If I come any closer you might get infected. You've been having problems as it is."  
  
"I do not care. We have been in an ice rink together for the last few days. If I am to become infected, I probably have already." He sat up and took Johnny's hand, then started reaching up his arm.  
  
Next thing Johnny knew he was on top of Stephane, tongue in the man's mouth, hands everywhere, legs getting tangled together. He reached into Stephane's pants and cupped his dick, loving how Stephane moaned for him.  
  
But now there was something else he had to tell him, so when they came up for air, he said, "You should know, if you, uh, literally want me to fuck you, I haven't often, er, I mean-"  
  
"You do not top?" Stephane asked, looking worried.  
  
"Well, not never, but I don't really have much experience-it might not be very good." If Johnny was reading this situation right, he'd just hooked up with a fellow bottom, and that could make things interesting. _We can switch off,_  he told himself.  _There's no question tonight, anyway; he needs this a hell of a lot more than I do._  
  
"It will be enough," said Stephane, and kissed him again before unzipping his jacket.   
  
Instead of simply shoving each other's shirts out of the way, as they had in China, Johnny slid Stephane's shirt off and lightly tossed it aside. He ran his hands down his pecs before gingerly leaning forward and applying his tongue to a stiff nipple.  
  
"Bite it," Stephane whispered. Johnny looked up at him. " _Tu as entrendre moi_ -you hear me," he gasped.  
  
"You don't need to translate for me," Johnny murmured, "not really. At least not right now." And he bit down, gently at first, then harder when Stephane gasped and moaned, soothing with his tongue and making him whimper.  
  
"You do like that, don't you?" Before Stephane could answer he bit the other nipple. Stephane was drawn taut beneath him, murmuring something heated in French that Johnny couldn't quite catch, but was inflamed all the more by. He ravished the bud with tongue and teeth while Stephane's hands clutched his head, tensing as he stopped and looked down. Athete's torso, dark treasure trail, large hard-on. "Oh, you are beautiful." He hooked his fingers into Stephane's leggings and stripped him naked, pulling off socks and shoes as he went. He reached down and stroked Stephane's knees. "How are they?" he asked softly.  
  
"Better-your hands feel good-oh-ohhhh!" Johnny had leaned down to lick those knees, and found himself traveling up Stephane's thighs.  _"Tu vas faire damner moi!"_  
  
Johnny forced himself to pull away so he could reply, "I think I've done so already."  
  
The response he got to that was a pair of hands yanking at his shirt and a hiss of,  _"Enleve le t-shirt."_  He obediently pulled it off, and found Stephane was already getting his pants down and pulling him into a skin-to-skin embrace as he kicked off the last of his clothing. Johnny kissed him frantically, pressing into Stephane's roving hands and reaching down to grasp both their dicks. They both moaned as his hand found its mark.  
  
Then Stephane reached over to his bedside table. It took him two tries to get the drawer opened, but he pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom and handed them to Johnny. Johnny moved back and pushed Stephane's legs up, bending his head down to hide his uncertainty. It had been too long since he'd done this.  
  
He slicked his fingers and slid them inside Stephane first, more for his own preparation than for the latter's. He burrowed them in, noting with pleasure how Stephane pushed back against them, curled them around, searching for Stephane's prostrate. He knew he'd found it when Stephane cried out and bucked into his hand, and pressed in just to have him do it again, though he had to withdraw and use both hands to get the condom on.  
  
Fully prepared he positioned himself and hooked Stephane's legs over his shoulders, taking care with his knees. Then he whispered, " _Actuellement?_ "  
  
It was surprising to him how much hearing Johnny speak his own language caused Stephane's eyes to dilate.  _"S'il te plaît."_  
  
He pushed in, feeling Stephane's body squeeze him.  _"Bon?"_  he whispered.  
  
 _"Bon."_  Stephane reached out with his hands and tried to pull Johnny in faster. Instead Johnny pulled out and thrust back in.  _"Ouias,"_  Stephane groaned, then several thrusts later he rocked back into Johnny hard, yelling,  _"Là! Là!"_  
  
Spurred on by his urging, and by the feel of Stephane's hot flesh around his dick, Johnny angled in and thrust harder, wrapping an arm around Stephane as they slid back and forth on the bed, his other hand working Stephane's dick. Stephane's head fell against the pillow as his eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and the sounds that came out made Johnny drive harder still, pressing an elbow into the bed to brace himself as Stephane's body pushed back against his, each one urging to other to go faster until the bed was knocking against the wall. Johnny's breath was coming in short gasps; he was struggling not to come.  
  
Then Stephane forced his eyes open and looked at Johnny, and whispered, "Let me see it," and Johnny came, rocking into Stephane as he arched back. His hand shook around Stephane's dick but when he came down he saw from how Stephane's eyes were rolling back in their sockets that he was close, and a moment later he was spilling over Johnny's hand.  
  
"You said it might not be very good," Stephane chided when they both had their breath back and Johnny had curled up on the bed next to him.  
  
Johnny laughed. "You're not hinting you can't top at all, so that impressed you?"  
  
"I think I will become much better at it than I have been."  
  
And that was good to hear, because, Johnny now remembered, they had kind of gotten to the sex before really confirming that they were a  _they. You're forming conclusions even now, he thought,_  and he quickly asked. "So...we are?"  
  
"I would hope so," laughed Stephane. "I admit, I was worried tonight. You barely looked at me."  
  
"If I'd looked at you too much tonight I would have made things obvious to the world; I was that anxious myself," said Johnny. "And then neither of us would know a moment's peace, even if we never said anything."  
  
"Do you think people will not know?" asked Stephane, astonished.  
  
"Oh I think other skaters will know. In fact, I think most of them here know already. But that's one thing. Seriously...I had someone ask me about my sex life in the mixed zone tonight."  
  
"You did?? What did you say?"  
  
"Something about being a good little skater who goes to bed at eight when I'm not competing. Which these days is true. Most of the time." Johnny loved his fans, he really did, but sometimes he thought they did get a little scary. "You know, sometimes I do think about coming out. It's not like the federation would be any more pissed at me than they usually are already. Yeah, it'd be risky, but sometimes I do wonder if it's really worth it, playing this stupid game...and then I think about how the media would react." He shuddered. "I don't want that kind of attention ever. And you...I think about you and I want to keep you all to myself. I don't want to have to answer questions about you. I really want this to be just you and me. Noone else allowed in."  
  
"Life won't work like that forever."  
  
"Well, we can see if it will for now, can't we?"  
  
"Yes, for now." He kissed Johnny again, the kind of kiss that hinted that they would have to worry about more than "for now" in the future, because he intended for them to have a future, one that involved not just months but years, and maybe even eventually the kind of normal relationship neither of them have ever been able to have. Johnny couldn't think that far into the future anymore. He knew he was going to Vancouver and he was winning Olympic gold if he could at all manage it, and everything after that was kind of fuzzy. Trying to look closer at the future distracted him too much.  
  
He tried to picture what Stephane might be picturing beside him. But suddenly he was afraid to. He didn't even quite have the nerve to picture their reunion at the Grand Prix Finale in three weeks. Who knew if Stephane might get frightened by then, and back out? And if he didn't that time, there was Worlds, and then more competitions next year, and it just went on and on.  
  
"Stephane?" he asked, tentatively, not sure what to say.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Hold me," he whimpered, and he was wrapped up in Stephane's strong arms, pressed to his chest so that he could hear his heart. Certain that he was loved, at least for the moment.


End file.
